


Cinders: Love's Lost Flame

by Akumaloligirl



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Romance, Slow Burn, Vaginal Sex, Victorian era, fast burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 13:37:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19110766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumaloligirl/pseuds/Akumaloligirl
Summary: The romantic lives of three different people:The free-spirited Esbrym RoseluckThe polite Royce RosevelvetAnd the strict Audra Roselove





	Cinders: Love's Lost Flame

Cinders: Love's Lost Flame

Sazareannain was a realm of intense studies of the complex configurations of the mind, mystical arcana, subtle science, and passionate politics. And its history was sanguinary, steeped in bloodshed that battered the moral of the burgess of the realm from the many battles of old. Lovetorn paramours pulled apart had oft inspired brutal wars that lasted scores and decades. Familial bonds of distant relatives in alternate royal lines forged unbreakable alliances through the new passage of the time periods to cull weakness from imperial lineage. 

In the years preluding the first era of holy song, year 1549 of her birth, society had been more righteous and just. Times were simple, inventions less complex and allowed for a less stressful life earned through honest labor and hard work that caused sweat to run down the temples beneath the unforgiving summer sun. But since 1550, life began to change for the populace of her home country. As religious fantaticism poisoned the masses, and new so-called truths determined by the convience of the few, by the newly renowned doctors who practiced the study of the mind became accepted as fact. And life only grew more complex. The multifariousness of high class society and its intricaties chartered a more convuluted course for the rest of the people. And in the dithering kingdom of Krahlisain there was an even wider gulf between the traditions of old (which accepted equality of the sexes and the belief that every man no matter his station was to be heeded in whatever he might have to say lest it better everyone’s quality of life) and the new reformations with called immodesty the highest sin and placed importance on pride but little on true dignity.

The ancient beliefs warred with the new studies of practitioners of psychology researched in secret and the religious tenets strictly amended in 1557. And now in the year 1579, society had undertaken a dogmatic, tyrannical way of governing over the less fortunate masses’ way of life, who have lost their voices to the entitlement and power of the highborn. The belief of equality was lost, or spoken of in hushed tones. The misery that fell like a toneless chiffon veil over all of society (polite and vulgar, high and baseborn) was never spoken of except by the few who had the courage to defend themselves against the indocrination that began at neonancy into this morally constrictive way of thinking. 

Esbrym Roseluck, famously known within this district as the Maven Matron of Fashion, was not a highborn lady. However, she was of advantageous position within the upper middle-class and quite miraculously, had nothing under which she might be crushed by the misery that seemed to plague all others. And though she was not highborn nor gentry-born, neither was she baseborn. She’d been born into the happy middle of the mercantile class. And her rather popular business sufficed to allow her easy living so she never had to rely on the anemic mercies of a creditor. And when the end of the month came, all her bills were payed in full and on time, as well as that of the city taxes. Nor did she wilt beneath the control of a familial clan coterie that might try to wrestle away the freedoms she enjoyed of her life. Though she lead one of leisure with the freedoms to dabble as she would with what struck her fancy, she was still plagued by one singular agony. 

What brought her emptiness and sorrow was the death of her father, Godephrey Roseluck (eldest and presumably the last of his subname of the Rose line as it was assumed that at some point Esbrym would choose to marry into another family), who was late by four years now past. She would find herself mulling over old memories that had already begun to fade, and desperately cling to them for the rest of the day. At once taking solace and aching at the remembrance. Erelong, bit by bit, she had come to accept the sudden death of the man who sired her and raised his daughter by his lonesome. She would command her mind and dwell not on the loss and would instead take comfort that there in paradise in the world beyond this one he awaited her. She reminded herself that wherever he was in the unknowable afterlife, he would be watching over her progress through life filled with pride and love. 

In honor of Godephrey Roseluck’s wishes, Esbrym lived her life as her oftentimes capricious whims and whimsy demanded. And she followed her heart’s deepest desires without the shame that doctors of the mind and the canon officials of religion tried to force onto all the burgess: the patrician highborns, the hardworking lowborn, the back broken proletariat, and all of the community that laid in between the easy life and the hard one. The better to control Krahlisain burgess, she mused as she adjusted a layer of crinoline petticoat peeking beneath her skirts. 

She was not so easily controlled or inhibited as the rest of the bird flock for she was not the dumb pigeon but the cunning raven who was as beautiful as a swan. Despite her femininty (which according to the standard’s of her time, demanded of a female an empty head to forfend against ‘disgraceful’ urges and amoral ideals), she had been educated from quite early in her youth by tutors on a variety of matters. And she devoured all new information presented to her thirsty intellect. She could not remember the last time she had read a book that she had not absorbed to be picked apart and scrutinized within her own sharp-witted mind. Not only was she literate and educated, but all attempts to indoctrinate her to the popular beliefs of her age had been refuted bluntly by her father. So she grew to be a capable, tenacious, and stalwart woman without remorse for her views indecent of her era with a sagacious acumen to match. 

She juggled with ease her image as a proper lady and with her contrasting true individualism as a licentious temptress. It was effortlessly that she managed the finances of her lucrative company and the rewards of her conducive sexual exploits. She was always very discriminating in her choice of lover she’d take to her bed, and even more so with the suitors she’d allow to court her publicly. If she determined that those swains were truly interested in her, filled with an impenitent need for her warm body flush against his, then she’d at first pull him atop her to test the waters of their pride and skill. And then after, were he receptive, she’d take her pleasure of him from astride his lap while he lay sprawled out on his back amidst the tangled bedclothes. 

Yet on the other hand, if he seemed like he’d be repulsed with himself if he did anything further than simply looking his fill of her beauteous figure, she’d not attempt a seduction. Nor would she if the man was bespoke or married, and under most circumstance also not if he was a widower though she’d made an allowance once. She’d not sacrifice her pride for pleasure in such a heartless way as that of being kept as a secret doxy mistress; she didn’t hold her dignity so cheaply as to steal a man from some other woman’s bed. This was her own personal aesthetic and also for the guardianship of her reputation. This also ensured that a man who shared his beliefs with that of stringent society would not after feel so much disgust for the act that he’d confess his sins in the sanctum next rest day and thus ruin her good name. 

Esbrym had everything she could need and had much of that which her appetites demanded. All her fancies were fulfilled by her own skill or if satisfaction couldn’t be achieved beneath her own hands, she sought out someone who could douse her wants with fulfillment and gratification. She possessed several species of independence and freedom that was unprecidented in these trying times. She could afford the comforts and luxuries of house and home without the need for a husband or the close ties of an extended lineage of a kindred dynasty to see to her moral constrainment. When lonely or aching, she shared companionship with a chosen few of people who entered her life that she trusted not to abscond from it by insubstantial triggers. And above all, to the steel construction of her pride, she retained a fiercesome beauty matched only by her cleverness. 

Esbrym enjoyed the curveous assets of a well-maintained figure and favorable anatomy. She drew the eyes—at times without even having the intent of such a reception—more often than other women did. Even women younger than she would be dismissed in the face of her incomparable comeliness. Withal, it should never be mistaken that the Roseluck scion was a little blushing lass ignorant of the ways the male and female form could come together to achieve such grand heights of pleasure. She was proud to be all woman. A matron of the admittedly slender Roseluck dynasty that has all but faded from society. Though in this kingdom of well understood and tested methods of seeing to the health of the populace and the availability of comforts that decades past had not been afforded before, her age of thirty was hardly perceived to be old much less antiquated as the age had been seen as a thousand years ago. 

Though still most of society’s universally held ideal female be a fair damsel, not that of a female experienced of womanhood of more than a few years even if that age was still far and away from geriatric elderliness. But even at thirty, Esbrym was still at a ripe age for the reception of marriage proposals, which would have been received by her mother and the decision left to that of the family patriarch, had she one still living (though it was doubtful Godephrey Roseluck would ever have placed importance upon his decision in what would define her life such as marriage as opposed to her own). So while she might not be that blushing maiden any longer, she—rather than resentful of her years—took pride in her own maturescence and experience. After all, it would be many more twelvemonths before there were any obvious signs of aging to be wracked upon her face and body. 

Ah, but she was a sight yet still. She with her thick, vuluminous hair like the warm red glow cast by the solar setting over the horizon on a glade of red poppies soaking up the dying rays of the sun. Her glossy locks—lustrous and healthy from frequent combings by brushes with special bristles and frequently tended to by rejuvenating oils with cloying scents—swept down her prominent cheeks and arched back in coiling untamable curls. Her hair took a long while to wash by virtue of its thick though soft density. She let it lie naturally for the most part but would customarily interweave the large curls with several braids secured towards the back of her hair by various combs and barrettes. Sometimes she’d wear a bronze diadem or bejeweled gold circlet cord upon her heart shaped head. Today, twelve braids at the back, top part of her skull were kept out of her eyes by a comb at the top edge of her head, crafted from flawless ivory with its tips dipped in rippled gold and a carved rose emblem. The rest of her fiery mane cascaded over her shoulders and back like a bridal veil or if she knew the day was going to be particularly hot, would secure the mass of her hair together with a satin ribbon tied at the low nape of her neck and woven around the back of her head in chignon to prevent sweat from plastering her hair to her skin. 

She felt that her hair—and had been told before on many occasions which had quite pleased her each time—was her most dynamic feature. At the least it was a most eye-catching trait among a mostly blonde and brunette community. It made people associate her with the precluded story-typical characterization of what redheaded gingers were like. It conjured a verdict of a wild, untamed heroine from the tales now mostly lost to time who held not propriety in high regard but in the giving of oneself over to the emotive sensibilities that possessed her in times of passionate perspective. Under most circumstances, Esbrym loathed the preconceived notions others might form about her because of the narrow-minded, intolerant acceptance of sterotypation, as often whatever was thought of her was false. However in the case of the conclusions people formed of her based upon that rare redness of her hair, she was quite pleased to be viewed in such a light. She enjoyed the idea of her red hair leading herself into such passionate brazenness, even if she knew that in polite company at least she was tempered by false mild mannerism when the situation had need of it. She was no fool, the widowed Roseluck patriarch had seen to that as soon as she could toddle round the shop as a babe. 

And it was not just her hair that was so striking. Her facial features were not delicate like a doll as with some women who strove for porcelain like features without a trace of emotion as it was rumored an expressionless staved off wrinkles. Like the highborn ladies she contracted lines of credit with, they who were so pampered and powdered into utter ignorance that the idea of a husband frightened the fair blossoms that trembled through the wedding night and then thought only of knitting and the pitter patter of husband jr. little feet. No, the pieces of flesh above vicera and bone that made up the fabric of her face were as bold as her personality. Her eyes were big, giving her such a piercing stare should the need for it arise. They were a deep fathomless silvery ocean into which men and women alike were plunged into their depths. Sometimes they halted their speech in the middle of their discourse after staring too deeply in her eyes, seeming to fall off the edge of where pupil met the deep depths of her iris. Her eyes were framed by thick red lashes that confirmed the color of her hair was indeed what nature had bestowed upon her. Those lashes Esbrym liked to flutter coyly to encourage the attentions of would be suitors. Her nose was not a small perfectly round button belonging to a damsel in need of rescue, it was aquailine and regal, the bridge straight and narrow, with the point it ended in a bit softer in its roundness so as to not completely leave her with the strict nose better suited to a passionless dictatorial schoolmarm. 

Her skin was the color of a mermaid’s cherished pearl and as silky soft as fresh milk. Such flawlessness of her fair alabaster pallor. Her complexion, despite being a woman who had enjoyed a blithely spent life, was as without imperfection too, devoid of wrinkle, crinkling around the eyes, freckle, or traces of the pockmarks from her past woes with acne. Though her skin was so light, her lips, always perpetually pursed to accentuate their plumpness, need not be colored by red paints as they possessed a dark natural rosiness. Her wild rose brows were carefully plucked into an arch that made her seem imperial like a great lioness ready to strike at her prey. As a human, her ears were rounded, with little holes pierced into the center of each earlobe for occasions when excessive jewelry was called for. 

She enjoyed a long neck that swung slightly back in a graceful arc that she liked to emphasize with black lace, latticed chokers. Then there was the further addition to her exotic qualities was that of her authoritative height that stretched above the average of most women, at an exact height of five foot eleven. Her tapered, hourglass-inverted waist and the voluptuous swelling curve of her hips spoke of many a man’s most secret fantasy. She closely met the qualifications of what those guarded dreams of man’s ideal lover’s most desired appearance. She had every inch a woman’s figure, not that of the blushing innocent of harsh angular lines of self-imposed starvation where curves should be. She boasted a generous bosom, her bust ample and high. They were full globes begging to be caressed and bit and sucked on, with aereolas double the size of a bronze coin, a most delicate shade of pink that peaked into a budded nipple. She liked to eccentuate her plump breasts with breath-stealing oxbone corsets that had her heaving chest practically bursting from the velvet-lined confinement of the tightly fastened laces that pushed up her cleavage over the confinements of her dress’s fabric of her chest area. 

Her arms were slender, and her elbows smoothed from daily applied lotions. As her tiny and exquisite wrists morphed into hands, one could tell at but a glance they were well maintained. The cuticles were kept in pristine condition. The nails filed into a delicate curve that followed the shape of her fingertips which lead up into long, graceful digits that were well-suited to playing exotic instruments, though she only knew how to play a few. Her stomach was completely flat, with slight definition of the indentations of her hip bones were. Above that was her chest, which only showed the slightest hint of her ribcage when she deeply breathed in. Her naval was small and inverted inward, and kept very clean. Her lithe legs were lissome and quite long, and when her legs were pushed together, there was still a small space between her groin and the place between her legs. Her back had a natural backwards arch so that her chest was pushed forward—and when she bent over, her spine seemed embossed on the curved bend of flesh—and her buttocks pressed out, which were high and tight and only rippled a little when struck. She discovered that with the help of a particularly adventurous conquest—what naughtily fun that night had been! 

And finally, her blushed pink centre: her creamy, hairless outer folds were modestly closed much like a clam that hid her hooded pearl crowning the top framed on either side—when opened—by the little pink flaps of the inner folds. The hole itself was still very tight as while she was experienced, she respected her the temple of her body, and did not allow any lover to stretch her unnessecarily. When aroused her pearl throbbed visibly, filling with blood and begging to be stroked. Her opening wept and glistened down, sometimes secreting so much that it ran down her thighs. But usually only in the presence of a much desired lover, otherwise she remained dry and would resort to offering other methods of pleasure to such a lover. 

Esbrym was a shopkeep, a dressmaker, and the proprietor of the legacy her father left behind. And was by now used to the hungry stares she received from those she came across. She felt them as she perused the marketplace. Or when she ventured to the town square to sit on the ledge circling the giant wishing fountain in its center so as to read for her own delight when she had the time to spare in between the running of her shoppe. She felt them when she went to purchase her bolts of luxurious fabrics and exotic cloths. She felt them when observing the finely carved statues in the public gardens where flowers for the florist were harvested. When she decided to dine out with a friendly companion at a little bistro three streets over, she felt the unquenchable heat the men around her put off. 

She was always invariably met with such looks upon greeting her every new acquaintances. And after an active exploration of her sexuality in her blooming adolescence of facial and gangly body misfortune, she now had confidence in her allure and not only welcomed the keen appreciation of other’s eyes lingering upon her; she all but expected it. She was not ashamed to admit that once alone after a particularly fervid lurid stare, would sit in house and home upon the stool of her vanity, and admire herself in the mirror and preen. She angle her face in all directions so as to have a complete view of her splendor. She’d spend an hour alone arranging her hair in new ways she thought might be fashionable enough to present to her customers. She spend countless minutes applying moisturizers and lotions upon her supple flesh and take the time to comb her silky hair exactly 100 times. And at times, she’d strip herself bare and admire the body that scorched others with wet, hungering passion. 

Though even through her expectation of such a reception for wherever she was, Esbrym still felt flattered every time by the knowledge that she was an object of secret desires and barely suppressed lust. It was far and away the awkward ugliness of childhood she experienced before her too-small features grew correctly proportionate to the diameter of her face. And it was most likely from that harsh experience to the opposite side of the spectrum of reception for those that had the misfortune of unloveliness that she now was without arrogance. Appreciative of her beauty, certainly but lacked any arrogance. Not that. Never that. 

The Roseluck scion fancied herself a good woman even if under the regulations of society, according to the practititioners of the mind, and under the tenets of the unified religion of Omniparadisian she would be considered to be sinful. A roundheeled harlot. But she did not presume some imagined superiority like some of the gentle ladies she catered to. No, she did not presume to the right of passing judgments upon others when she knew nothing of their struggles. She spared a few bronze coins to the hungry waif children and the hopeless guttersnipes that lurked on the less opulent streets of the capitol’s many districts. She gave words of comfort when needed, and silence when there was great call for listening. She praised where praise ought to be given. She kept all lies to what was only needed to get by in this backwards time, and practiced deceit only for defense against her own detriment. She prayed to the Paradise Omnipotence to create a messiah to bring enlightenment to her people. She could do not much else beside hope that her own acts of kindness would likewise inspire the same in others. So, yes, of course she thought of herself as a virtuous example of what a woman should aspire to be. Despite that she disregarded the opinions the royal court now held upon the subject of lust. For she was a woman filled with lust, and if she were to question herself as to what her greatest flaw might be, perhaps it would be that. 

Sometimes, if her schedule was open for any dalliance of whatever whim crossed her pretty mind, and she would feel those heated gazes, she’d subtly glance at them. If they suited the qualifications of Esbrym’s own mercurial aesthetics or intrigued her enough to strike her fancy, she would turn and boldly hold captive her admirer’s eyes. She’d flutter her lashes in that come hither way, with just the subtlest lift of the corner of her lips, already pursed with interest and begging to be kissed deeply, to surrender herself to passion. There were times when the libido of her watcher cooled when they realized…well, whatever they realized that made them decide against a bit of fun in the nearest place of privacy. She really could not fathom denying one’s desires when they did no harm to those that were involved. Why deny the very nature that the gods gave them? In the past she had been called a wanton libertine slut, but she simply understood her own yearning and bore no shame for that which shouldn’t encourage any. But more often than not, once her attention was returned upon them and they understood in the coy, veiled looks they flashed each other that the interest was mutual, they’d inevitably join together, pressing close as they murmured under their breaths in the most private place they’d found with the closest convenience available to them, which in her great experience found that place often to be in the back of a stagecoach for hire. 

Esbrym Roseluck was jovial and convivial, enjoying full liberty from any restriction or demarcation other women might impose upon their chastity. She bit back an unladylike scoff. As if to yearn for that which lights you aflame is to be used interchangeably with defilement (whether with willing consent or otherwise). There was a healthy dose of precious intimacy between two or more consenting individuals, and as long as the lines the participants had drawn from the beginning were not crossed, and boundaries were respected, all was well. But that was an unpopular view of sexuality and even of the more wholesome sensuality. Though these limitations were primarily focused on the womenfolk and catered to the guilt they felt in the guilty mesmerization they received from young age. Even men were not above these narrow-minded views. These stringent ideas were foisted upon them at young ages. The menfolk were told it was perfectly natural for them to feel urges, but on whomever female he physically expressed them was not to be treated with respect for she was a creature of sin and should be treated as such. And thus men saw to it, to preserve their spouse’s image, that their wives did not enjoy the marriage bed coupling. Which was so much the tragedy in Esbrym’s eyes, and was one of the reasons she was hesitant on the subject of marriage (though she did not wholly reject it and vaguely looked forward to the day she would be wed, though only to a man that had met to her standards of perfection). 

It was her belief that acts of physical intimacy was not damnable as it was made out to be between an unwed couple. For some, among tender lovers who pledge to their partners a great adoring devotion, it was a sign of love and was quite enjoyable expression that in a way that required no words. In a way that showed its proof in the frenzy of seeking mutual ecstasy. It was for them a way of showing affection by tending to the needs of their partner and bringing them pleasure. Passion and lust were beautiful things to express with another. And even among those who shared no love between them, such acts still brought satisfied gratification. Sex could soothe the nerves and allowed, if only for a short time preluding during and post act, for the stresses plaguing the mind to fade. Frequent lovings kept the temper calmer as unexpressed hunger for flesh left one too frustrated to play to their peek performances. And among those that were ready and eager, it was an activity in which two people began the conception of a new member of their family. How could something that felt so miraculously good and brought the privilege of parenthood be a sin from which great guilt and penitence should be derived? Three decades ago there was no stigma to such things and the Paradise Omnipotence did not damn, punish, or abandon practitioners of coital pairing. Surely the divine being ruling over their fates would not have suddenly thought such things wrong when before the sexuality of the people was celebrated. So it was Esbrym’s opinion and at times would so discuss with her conquest while in his post-intimacy embrace. It was always a favorable pastime to hear the enthusiastic agreement of a like-minded individual. 

The limitations the Krahlisain people—but most especially their womenfolk—put on their sexuality just out of fear of judgment was a tragedy. Anyone, so long as it is safe, should be encouraged to pursue their curiosities down the avenues their minds ran, or feel free to follow in pursuit of the exploration of what secret fantasies they thought of at night beneath their own familiar touch. Restraint should only be practiced because that person feels that it is all they need, not because religion and psychology implies that there is something broken within you if your do not astringently follow the set regulations of society and the brainwashing of young girls into suppressing their true selves for the sake of keeping up the perfect appearance of a good gentlelady. 

But Esbrym had enjoyed the supportive hands of her widower father lifting her up to any height from which she was brave enough to look down and still allow herself to climb higher. She had been encouraged to be emancipated from the stiff opinions of gray-haired men who were past fourscore years wearing their silk cravats so tight it restricted blood flow to their heads and impaired their judgments. That must have been the reason for them to declare that a woman should not be in want of a night of loving as or most especially more desperately than that of a man. It was not singular to a man to feel the release of pleasure beneath questing fingertips and suckling lips and flicking tongue. It was not man alone that felt a frenzy of need at the sight of something arousing. Just because a female had a sheath did not mean she yearned to possess a sword for herself as she could be utterly satisfied beneath someone possessing a modicum of skill. But, Esbrym supposed, as one of the few women independent from the customary restrictions of Krahlisain, hers was a unique opinion to hold as a woman. 

Esbrym Roseluck had much experience with taking a man to be, and contrarily had only taken a meagre count of woman into her embrace, however she discovered a fascinating fact. While the women she’d unraveled into a boneless sprawl of loose and relaxed limbs, spent and satisfied, quickly announced their fear of what they’d just done. The women worried and felt guilt, though knew better than to tell anyone lest their reputation be ruined. But they all broke ties soon after, unable to bear the remembrance of their own ecstasy. Per contra, the menfolk held a different attitude. Upon their spurted completion, had they the strength to keep their eyes open after the vigorous limits Esbrym had pushed him to, would divulge their happiness at finding a woman who delighted in their touch. They confided to feel awful when lying with a ‘proper’ woman who laid like a corpse, silent and still, while he thrust into her seemingly lifeless sheath. To them, a woman who declared his satisfactory skill at lovemaking, was more coveted than a woman beneath the shackles of noble propriety. A willing, active participant in a partner was more favored than a disgusted or disinterested one. Knowing this about men gave Esbrym hope that her husband (whenever he might come into her life in some far distant future) would appreciate her voracious appetency. 

All of Esbrym’s enlightened views of the stringent world of proper etiquette could be welcomed as result of Godephrey Roseluck. His daughter would always be grateful for the Roseluck Patriarch’s tender care. For his delicate approach to any questions, concerns, or fears she had (and she’d had many of them; the flaw of having a curious, anxious mind). She was never made to pay penitence for her ‘iniquitous’ thoughts and was taught to let her tongue run free of the rules of so many courts which would have labeled her a licentious harlot and would have exiled her from their high society teas and luncheons of small talk, merciless politicking disguised as talk about needlepoint and dress shopping, and the remaining meaningless nonsense that came with any group of highborn ladies in a castle, no matter what kingdom it belonged to. But she was no highborn lady, and thus was at ease to enjoy her opinions that were of the same persuasion as of that of old and her salacious escapades that all fell into an overall quite ordered easy lifestyle. She thought herself to have become quite the mooncalf if not for her father’s choices upon the matter of her upbringing. 

And so her lifestyle was easily maintained. She owned a boutique passed down from Godephrey that sold gowns and feminal habiliments that were already stitched and were to be altered to fit the customer and then sold. Though the first revision to the business she made was to allow for special circumstances in which she would undertake orders as a seamstress instead of a dressmaker. If it were for a wedding, she could be commissioned to sewn a dress according to the desires of the bride-to-be. Or if the order was placed by someone willing to part with a large sum of coin. She only made allowances for selective customers, though. They were given preferential treatment after a certain length of time they’d consistently paid patronage in return for her goods, and only if Esbrym saw fit to bestow upon them personal favor. 

Her boutique also boasted the sale of accessories such a fashionable little handbags, fur stoles of autumn mink and winter white fox available in a wide selection of length, color, and thickness of the hair on the pelt. She also sold many fetching hats to suit any occasion, along with many color choices of hand gloves and formal gloves. She sold a variety of corsets, such as corset that only encompassed the stomach or only the chest, or whether it was framed by ox or whalebone, or lined within with silk to avoid any itchiness, or whether the corset was to be worn over or under the habiliments. 

Then there was also the pearl jewelry exclusively sold as Esbrym adored pearls and had a contract calling for all clams found with one of the ships at the dock that catered to her business alone. She also offered scarves fit for practical needs to buffer against winter winds and ones that fell under the decorative category. 

And as a recent addition to her retinue of feminine selection, she now offered a wide array of scented lotions that she purchased exclusively from the lonely old biddy (who was referred to as such with the utmost affection) whose husband has once been a doctor of chemistry who also dabbled in alchemy. Her lotions and hand and face creams were guaranteed to clear problematic skin and reverse the effects of certain signs of aging with longterm use. She also offered exotic oils (in separately purchased little colored glass vials) she purchased from the suspicious new sailors occupying the docks recently. She was hesitant to trust such goods, but after some testing, the oils seemed quite innocuous and smelled quite pleasant as well. 

Then their was the footwear. Slippers of silk, satin, and velvet. On some days she offered lacy linen shoes with curved carved wooden soles with an arch built in to better support the foot. Wooden clogs carved intricately and painted colorfully and then finished with a polish to stave off splinters were also boasted to be sold here. Suede or leather boots with modest heels and a few fastening buckles. 

Thereupon was also sold fans, some of lace some of brocade fabric of daedally sewn paisley print stitched between birchwood stick tongues that made up the fan’s spine. The fans were stitched in lovely patterns. Some were plain, but other flamboyantly colorful with stitched designs of a retinue of flowers and blossoms, or an abstract design much ike the famous paintings of the last century. She also offered garrulously patterned parasols created with brocade, canvas, cloth, or damask fabric. Moreover, she sold garters and stockings, though she kept those stored in the back for propriety’s sake. 

The famed Maven Matron of Fashion adored the boutique her father bequeathed to her in his will. It was all but a symbol of her feminine pride and hard-won accomplishment. She loved her shoppe. Many fond memories were to be kept close to her heart within her memory. Some of herself as an awkward prepubescent girl, sitting at her father ankles as he stood and measured the fabric of what was the beginning of a gown’s creation. The unfinished stitching had been in no danger of unraveling as it was well secured to the plush-bodied torso manikin. She would just lay her once acne pocked cheek against her father’s calf as she curled up on the floor at his feet, her damask neutral colored skirts spread about her like an opened blossom. She had remained at his feet, simply watching his hands fly in a flurry of motions. How dexterously he performed the stitching and the simultaneous adjustment of the rushed, sloppy sewing of a previous late night when he was too tired to see his work clearly. 

Or another memory of her father calling on their live-in housekeeper to brew a spot of mint tea for the two of them when the cruel words of the other children plagued Esbrym’s mind so that sleep would not swallow her up. Mrs. Ryestra, the housekeeper, would steep the leaves always two minutes to long to strengthen the flavor, and the potency of the mint would settled an anxiously roiling stomach. But even after they, the three of them, partook, they’d remain clustered at the dining table for a good quarter of an hour idly chatting until the troubles of the day faded from Esbrym’s mind. Thinking of him brought an ache to her chest, but sometimes it felt good to laze about in her memory of him.

Ah, just being in his placid, unrushed, irenic presence, would always lull her back into a more tranquil frame of mind after a busy day of frustrating lessons. This was of course before she became so determined to learn. So precluding that time, it had been the one thing Godephrey and Esbrym had disagreed on, though now she was sorely beholden to her appreciation of his compulsion to remain dutiful to her education and not simply to literacy, poetry, and musical lessons all girls of a certain status were wont to learn. It was as result of her father’s insistence on the importance of literacy, mathematics, history, poetry and art in all it varied forms, that she eventually grew to love learning everything she was taught. Strangely though, he had cautioned her away from the the pursuit of the sciences, practices of the mind, and that of the arcane arts. 

“Arcana is a system that brings unnessecary complexity to the mind where the simple matters of the every day life will wither into perceived tortuous schemes. The miracle of its serviceability will burrow its way into the forefront of your mind at times when your attention is better spent on other matters. It will seduce you as a siren to a sailor and you WILL come to crave the sensation of efficacy at an accomplishment previously thought to be insurmountable to complete. Its tempest-tossed song lures souls with unrest and disquietude in their hearts like yours easily. And the sciences are little better a pursuit. They subtract the wonder from living, take the greatest mysteries of life, so beautiful in their unsolvable enigmatica, and slap on a barely factually supported theory to explain it all away and call it a new truth. Peh, it tears us from the innocence of our dreams. But the need to keep learning as much as possible can lure many a scholar to the sciences, and sciences prefer not to let go of pure hearts until it’s well tainted with cynicism. As for the practices of the mind, well, that is an all the worse field of study. It mould the mind into being injudiciously judgmental of matters you will have studied over bare-bones research and hold the belief you know what it is like for that person. As if you could comprehend their decisions when you’ve not suffered as they have. Nay, daughter, such a field is fiendish. Best not to dwell on irresistible temptations, eh, Madamoiselle Bunny?” He said to her once when he was pulling the fleece coverlets over her scrawny, gangly little form after she had asked after the insistence of daily lessons but the absence of the sciences, the practices of the mind, and the study of arcana of all which he could afford but denied and kept her from. 

And all during that time, she’d been a churlish student, convinced she’d have no need of the knowledge her tutors tried passing on to her. Although, she had bore more than a passing fascination with those unfathomable fields of study. She was more partial to the practices of the mind. The idea of knowing the functionality of a person and the emotions that comprised within their souls had a definite appeal. But her father forbade it, and to her remembrance had never gone against the wishes of her father. Not because she was afeared of him, but rather the reason was her great love and respect for the man who raised her singularly without the guidance of a wife’s gentle hands made for motherhood. He was no healthful virile buck but a man of geriatric age who was forced to care for a child when he’d no experience of raising one before (as according to Mrs. Ryestra, Esbrym’s mother had been told she was barren). And to be expected to raise a daughter by his lonesome without the directions of his wife was a great thing to ask of a man, especially with one so preoccupied with the debut (he had opened the store the year before her birth) of his shoppe. But he did as his honor dictated and did not shy away from his duties as a parent, not even when he was forced to take the role of mother at times. And so, Esbrym held great favor, adoration, and deference for Godephrey’s sacrifice. 

Though she took heart at some of the memories she had of him, there were dark times to be recalled as well. As with anybody, she supposed. At times, her father was wise and compassionate and tirelessly hardworking to see to the success of his most fervent dream. But there were moments when even she, for all her own queerness under the general consensus of society, found him to be an idiosyncratic person. And that was allowing for the progressively quickening years of his life the older they grew together. By the time she was fifteen, she could already see the deterioration of his mental health. At times his mind seemed to fumble with its grasp on the facts of this world, of the immovable truths of reality. Esbrym had at first been terrorstruck of those moments when her father retreated within the depths of his mind, but she acclimated, and found she could still smile at him and maintain patience as she waited for his mind to return to her. And by her age of six and twenty, erelong came his sepulture, which while not unexpected greatly bereaved her. 

She was suddenly thrust into the role of the proprietor of the boutique that had been a home away from home for her. She had been trained to work as something of a store clerk, manning the register and taking measurements. Withal, she was unprepared for aught the rest. That first year was really burdensome and arduous. It had been a struggle to keep her footing on the tightrope of her daily life, which was a struggle of managing the shoppe and managing her crippling depression. But a year into the running of her new business, she finally found herself on even footing, having at long last learned the ins and outs of running her store. And to counteract her desolate sorrow, she threw herself into customer service. She became personally acquainted with every returning customer. She poured on all her charm to tempt her patrons to purchase as many of her wares as she could get them to. And they all came to settle into acceptance of her new position as well as she. And perhaps they came to like her more than that of her predissesor. She was certainly more charismatic than that of the serene-minded Godephrey Roseluck. And now, four years later, her innervations had come to balance out into a lulled cheerfulness after having recovered from the death and mostly having avaunted the sorrow. 

The redheaded Esbrym shook the thoughts of her departed father away and his caducity of slow decline of mental wellness. Standing at the counter, she glanced down at the news scroll hidden in one of the cubbies. It seemed so innocent. Simply rolled up parchment baring the title: The Glittering Jewel Journals. It had held much of the same broadcasts. What the latest fashions were. What scandal the king’s court was involved in this fortnight. The disclosure of the obituaries. A narration of an interview between the most successful farmer in this region and the secret to his crop abundance. A few short stories of fiction. She let her mind further ponder the clandestinely written (in a sort of double entander code for propriety’s sake) report by a Mr. Gaurendon—lead communicant of the tableau—of a rather serious case of feminine misery. The article gave no additional information than of that that was already circulating in this district’s gossip mill about the (not just district-wide but) city wide slew of suicides among the womenfolk. 

Those who died came from all walks of life. Most notably there was the Sauvengir governess who slit her own throat with a porcelain vase shard. She was a mother of three, two boys and one girl and married to Dusty Faugellen. Next it was the schoolmarm who lived on Mint Street who left behind to grieving parents and a grandmother. Then the maid of the Scotteryn duchy manor. And the endless slew of homemakers married to all sorts of husbands, rich or poor and handsome or unlovely. There was no particular detail linking them that Esbrym could fathom. In fact there seemed to be nothing, not so much as a single sign reoccurring within these cases other than the victims all possessed a sheath-like gentalia. 

The news scrolls caused upset to her sunshine disposition, but as she pondered over it more deeply, she thought she mayhaps she did actually have a reason for these women to seek their eternal rest rather than face the lives they must live. These women were forced to live as contrary to their true natures, to playact as if possessing a different personality, a milder mein, and keep to a flawless character. These women were forced beneath tyrannical regulation and told if they stray even for but a single cenitmeter the gods will strike them down with ill fortune as punishment. But of course such recourse does not stop there. For their sins, they’d bring down misfortune not only upon themselves but their loved ones. Because ‘these women of course would have infected the people closest to them with their aberrant crimes against the gods’ and so of course there must be punishment upon all the unclean and debase. So these women are forced to live not only a lie, but to surrender the last of the already few liberties they still were able to enjoy as children in exchange for the imbalance of power of an arranged, passionless marriage that results in the babes that were expected of them. They were doubtless the victims of heartache and an unloving husband’s infidelity. What woman would want such a life: to enjoy not a single comfort for the sake of their happiness if it were against the most modern opinions of sadistic medical doctors on how the psychology of a woman should be. 

As her thoughts took such a darkly unwelcome turn, Esbrym chidingly clicked her tongue in disapproval at allowing herself to think of all the blatant, exaggerated sensationalism of the tableaus. She would be forced to think of it erelong, when she was required to attend the sanctums, the temples, and the shrines to be lectured by the blackguard priests and corrupt canonical officials. No doubt they would have something to say on the behalf of the families struck by the deaths. She could already hear the echo of their words of dispraise foisted upon the late women. How cruel did one have to be to disparage a corpse ere its lost its warmth and ere it’s family tears have yet dried? There lecture would be spun as a peccant failure of them as a woman, as a daughter, as a mother, and most of all as a wife. She felt a sigh break from the confinement of her glossy lips. 

It was all an assay at indoctrination into keeping the womenfolk away from the enlightenment of the archaic testaments of the ancient days. She decided just then, that she would be happy to die a spinster than to live as a miserable wife. Companionship she could find beneath her own skills. What need of a man had she? She was capable of running her little shoppe regardless of her sex and all the weaknesses associated with those in possession of a uterus. She enjoyed her independence, and she did not foresee that changing in the near future. However, that is not to say the news scrolls had ruined her on the prospect of marriage. She was more than willing to entertain the idea of matrimony. Just as of yet she had not found a man which captured her heart so utterly that she would settle her wild ways pursuing the excitement of new adventures. 

The more she thought about herself, the more sure she became that all would be well. She was content with her life. And not only content. Convivial. Jubulant and jocund. Grateful for what she had and the passion of the feelings she was free to express that women, most especially new wives, were unable to. Esbrym Roseluck did not enjoy a scandalous reputation, thank the gods, as while she was unashamed to express herself sexually, she did not go around indulging in exhibitionism among those that could report her randy activities to a bloodthirtsy news journal that would then feel compelled to ruin her business. 

As such the womenfolk that entered her boutique felt at ease enough to indulge in a frivolous palaver. And it was through the tete-a-tete that lasted longer and longer each time a woman would visit once more, the redhead dressmaker had learned that many women felt stifled. One woman, before turning beet red and running out of the shoppe in shock over her lugubrious words, had described the feeling as “I am meant to be lovely and seen. Admired and marveled at but I need not have the light shine behind my eyes. I am the butterfly that my husband pins to his cork board, removing me from my glass display case to show off to his friends and colleagues, and if he’s lucky, his betters. I am expected to writhe in pain beauteously, to struggle anew now that the needle was removed from my body, all for their entertainment. They laugh at my struggles to endure the torment of my captivity. I am not an object! I am not a decoration! I am a person, gods forsake you for your thoughtlessness and greed, Aladrian, I am your wife and I cannot survive this callous disregard at any further length. I’ll go mad, I swear it!” 

It was shocking to be made aware of what allowed you to be previously, blessedly oblivious to the newest darkness one has discovered of the whole of the country, and most especially the capitol within which she dwelled, Torosen. Here she lived in the most densely populated district, Purity Peaks. There were times Esbrym dreamed of leaving this backwards thinking province, and opening up a boutique all her own that didn’t first belong to her father. Somewhere out there over yonder beyond the boundaries of this kingdom. Perhaps she might one day take a true walk on the wild side and abscond from Krahlisain to tour the other lands of realm. She could traverse the countries until she found one where she was filled with a sense of belonging. It would be there she’d perdure and open up her own shoppe. And perhaps then the vast majority of her customers would not be filled with such desolation and instead be full to bursting with good spirits. Ah, it was a pretty dream, and one she’d cherish within the secret places of her mind and dwell on when she was feeling fanciful.

In wont of some way to keep busy in a boutique lacking any persons besides her own (in the open to the public part of the shoppe, as there were wageworking seamstresses sewing in one of the back rooms) unless you count the headless manakins crafted in a specific pose. But, no, Esbrym tried not to think of those imitations of womankind. It would only frighten her when she tidied up at night before finally closing at half past the eighth bell. So she went behind the front counter which was crafted of ash wood with a white marble slab placed over its top. Upon it was a bronze register machine polished to a shine. It was a symbol of status to own such an expensive piece of technology. Behind the counter were several shelves filled with nessecary miscellania, one of which was a dove feather duster that lay ready for it purpose to be fulfilled. Infusing herself with vivacity she did not yet feel with any degree of sincerity, she set about to attacking the tiny trails of dust that had accumulated from the last time she had performed the same task. 

The new Roseluck matriarch blew out a soft breath that was not quite a sigh and set about casting aside all darkness from her thoughts. She forced relaxation upon herself until her head emptied of any tangible thought, allowing herself to perform her task as mindlessly as a honeybee completing his task in service to his hive and queen. And there was a cheerful thought dwelling upon which she could spend her afternoon. But alas, her duty as proprietor of the boutique took precedence to her flights of fancy, which she only occasionally allowed herself the luxury of indulging as she knew an endless daydream would be to the detriment of her business, friendly acquaintances, romantic nightlife, and to the devolution of her progress with now well-managed and maintained serenity. Nay, she was not an imbecile. She knew her own limitations and allowed for periods of rest. She tempered those moments of repose with methodical productivity for balance until she regained equilibrium over her self once more. 

She was broken from her thoughts when the sterling silver bell situated over the doorway to signal its open state rang its quiet tintinnabulation like a delicate tinkling chime. The sound lingered, poignant in the air as a single note until fading back into a comfortable hush disrupted only by the fluttering of the dress’s cloth from the errant breeze of an open bay window. This close to the Hearth and Flours bakery, the cloying perfume of sweet yeast hung in the shoppe. It was a wonderful perk of her father’s choice of location as the scent brought nostalgia of many of her customers. It’d cause them to think of their happy early years watching their mothers or chefs baked fresh rolls for the morning and evening. Esbrym had been told on several occasions that her business was always a welcome haven admist the business of Silvera Avenue Arterial. They were lured inside by her eye-catching displays and welcoming exterior that deprived the streets of the woman browsing the other shoppes. And once they had a chance to peruse her superior wares, these woman (highborn and plebeian alike) were tempted enough to make at least one purchase within the week. Dare she wonder if she enjoyed more success than her predicessor? 

With the silence of her calm business momentarily disrupted by the ringing bell, Esbrym halted any movements and lowered the feather duster to her side. She raised her face from her busywork and was greeted by the sight of a group of two obviously patrician women who were accompanied by man who bore specially commissioned armor most notable by its splendor. Perhaps a knight belonging to a noble dynasty. Esbrym beamed at them and said in her most gladsome voice, “Hail and ho there! Welcome, my ladies. My good ser,” as she returned the feather duster to its spot of honor behind the counter on the bottom shelf near the bronze set of scales that was meant to determine the worth of older coins that were no longer in print. 

Parted from her cleanly burden, she took up her typical stance behind the counter. Esbrym’s shoulders lay lax above a tightly corseted torso under whose spine was kept as straight as the horizon of the flatlands as was the proper way for a gentlelady to stand. Though she was hardly circumscribed to the limitations of society and raised to be independent of contrition for her free-willed ways, her father had tempered her upbringing with intelligent but free-thinking tutors who taught her when to keep up appearances of society’s stringent morals and when to allow herself free reign to do as she pleased. This was not one of those moments. Her business depended in large part on her unreproachable reputation. And of course of her talent and the high quality of her wares. So she gently laced her soft hands with their long fingers upon which had carefully filed nails polished to a glossy luster by a special coat of a secret potion from the Mythera Grimalkin (the woman she purchased her beauty products from) together at her front, nestled betwixt the place where her mauve skirt was overlapped by two carefully sewn bolts of light summer cloth strewn over each side of her hips in white, detailed by decorative needlepoint in real gold thread. But, upon realizing that she was to at least be ready to conduct business, she turned to the wall the counter was pressed up against and grabbed her apron from the gold-dipped silver hook upon which it hung. 

She pulled the gauzy translucent neck strap over her head, taking great care not to disturb her neatly arranged hair, and secured the white ribbon ties in a bow just above her bubbled backside which was on display from the not quite scandalous tightness of her gown. The lower fabric of the apron was made of a sheer, delicately spun charmeuse. The cloth over the torso was embossed in the center with her shoppe’s traditional entwinement of two sigils, which were a calligraphic variant of an ancient tongue which translated into ‘duty’ and ‘the heart’s devotion’. She placed her hands then into the latticeworked lace of the two pockets on each hip. The apron was purposely sewn into a more womanly shape than that of the typical apron, so that it adhered to the angles of her gowns which flattered her figure. 

One of the women had given a nod in response to her cheerful welcome, while the other was content to pretend Esbrym was not a part of the same existence as she. The man, on the other hand looked over at her when she spoke, brazenly holding her gaze upon the last of the words of welcome leaving her plump lips. Two women began to browse at their own leisure, neither yet deigning to speak. Their male companion followed in silence suit. 

At first, Esbrym kept her gaze demure, peering up from a bowed head to glance in their direction without giving in to outright scrutinization. This was a precaution for the sake of her good name, which she would not allow to be tarnished by her own flight-of-fancy folly. However, the man, while nonvocal and thus far voiceless, had not been uncommunicative. He was not to subtle about side-eyeing her from around the clothes racks, over his the ladies’ shoulders, and at one point even boldly angling his torso half way around so that he could gaze at her unrestrained, holding her eyes brazenly. So, seeing as how the two women were content to ignore and be ignored for the next few foreseeable moments, Esbrym decided to indulge herself. 

The man was dite in regal, well-kept armor that had few dents and shined as though recently polished. The metal it was crafted from was tinted golden but still shined a dark white, so it was not of silver, iron, nor steel divers of metal. Perhaps platinum or mythril. Pray it not be adamantine, as they say a man who wore it was impenetrable in all matter, and most especially of that of the heart and codpiece. His shoulder paldrons were smelted into a figure of wings and bulged out at the sides enough to do damage if he performed the right movements but small enough that they did not encumber his stride through tight corners. He had leather gauntlets with metal pieces over the knuckles, and similarly crafted leather boots with metal tips over the toes for protection and maximum damage in acts of kicking. 

 

 

 

So she shifted her attention to the details of his face—which luckily was not obscured by a helmet—to see if perhaps he met with her standards as a specimen of masculinity. 

His complexion was that of freshly churned butter, sallow without seeming unhealthy but too light to be a golden tan. His treacle-colored hair was cut short but fell it fell in wavy strands over his forehead without obscuring his eyes, which were a clever green so vibrant they seemed like the eyes of a creature from a netherrealm. They were slanted ever so slightly and double-lidded, gilted by short lashes the same shade as his mane and intensely expressive brows which were on the thick side limping into ‘untamed’ territory. His lips were thin, though currently pursed but they stretched a bit wide over his face. Annalise had the notion that the greater than average length of his smile would not be unsettling as one might think but in fact of a greater appearance of sincerity. On the matter of his nose, while the rest of his features were as well cared for and as refined as any highborn, it was unremarkable. It was a marker in the center of his face there but for the express purpose of recognizing scent. He had an angular jaw that was a bit feminine in its gracefulness but the prominence of his cloven-clefted chin was infused with enough testosterone to make up for it. All in all he possessed a rather fortunate face that was quite pleasing to the eye. 

He held himself perfectly upright. His back was as straight as the trunk of an birch tree. His shoulders were held back so that his chest was puffed out. Though armor could add bulk to an otherwise smaller man, he made for quite the imposing picture and no doubt was laden down by heavy muscles to achieve a part of that intimidation. One could assume he was not afflicted by indolence. He must keep up some sort of rigorous activity to remain so shapely with his broad shoulders that lead into a torso that arced into a natural v that ended at his hips. He carried himself with gentle conceit without megalomaniac egotism. He held himself with confidence that only just bled into arrogance without the combination making him insufferable coxcomb. The last thing Annalise took stock of was his height. He was height-challenged. He must have been about three and half inches shorter than her, approximately. 

And through it all, he had kept eye contact. She was not perturbed by his gaze. As a matter of fact, Esbrym rather delighted beneath it. Though he was a bit bolder than her other admirers captivated by the succulent appeal of her glamorous figure and the allure of her flawless face. But the intensity of his want and the burn of his attentions upon her did not make her unhappy. Had they been alone in a place of complete privacy, she would have made idle chatter with him, subtly inquiring after the possibility of a misses waiting for his return. If she found him unconnected, she’d have spent what she would hope was at least an hour sprawled together in a tangle of limbs, sweating beneath the burning fervor of their shared passion. But as it were, that was impossible, so once content with her look-over of the well-dressed, handsome manservant, she coyly lowered her gaze to stare at the register in front of her. 

The silence was not uncomfortable even if it were charged with want of equal vehemence. Though it was doubtful the other two women were aware of the electricity to the air at all. The quietude was broken by the scrape of the hangers across the metal beam of the rack that held them aloft over the raggedy carpet. She felt surfeit of her aesthetic gluttony, but the temptation to observe was too much to bare after several moments had past, during which the warrior’s jade eyes did not waver a whit. 

Esbrym’s silver eyes framed by the graceful flutter of her sunset eyelashes were drawn to the junior of the two patrician women browsing her wares. The girl—though to call her such would be a disservice, it would not quite be apt to call her yet a woman either, especially with the lack of a diamond ring upon her matrimonous finger—bore the look of someone possessing the loveliness of youth but not nessecarily harboring a lack of life experience. Despite her age state of the last vestiges of adolescence (not a time during which those living it hold a great amount of wisdom and experience), she seemed well-versed with life’s complexities. Esbrym, as an master at understanding people without even having to speak with them, could determine this alone through the way she walked. Esbrym watched the way she delicately trailed her fingertips over the sides of the fabric of all different sorts of apparel. The young lady was a bit of a rarity (even among the mercurial fashions of the highborn) among the females who frequented Esbrym’s shoppe as her face was obscured by a crocheted lace veil. 

The elder of the two gentle ladies on the other hand looked as though she were suffering from the fatalistic symptoms of consumption. She looked out of place among the locations of the city, and seemed better suited and furthermore looked as though she wished to be, abed rather than goggling at haute dresses that were too lovely and colorful to suit a woman of her seniority. Distaste for the dour, pinched face woman welled up within Esbrym Roseluck’s bosom. The stereotypical temper of redheadednesss rose within her and she had to ruthlessly wrangle it into submission. There were times when she briefly housed customers that scorned her fashions and she would always have to fight back her defensiveness. 

She could recognize her impulse to forfend any perceived attack on the legacy her father bequeathed her. Esbrym could admit to being a woman possessive of the things she considered to be her property. Though she had yet to play the role of jealous inamorata who hissed at anyone of the opposite gender within close distance to her lover. But, she thought, mayhaps that could be the fault of not finding someone with whom she devoted all of her love to and offered along with her heart everything else of worth that she had. Despite not having found such a person to share her whole being with, unlike other women she was not bitter about it. If it happened it was be lovely but it was not nessecary to her. Though even Esbrym on occasion found her mind drifting to the possibility of an epic romance that burned like the flames of the noble dragon, everlasting and never crumpling to cinders that there was no hope of rekindling. She would muse over what that person—male or female, human or dwarf or orc or elf—would be like. 

There were times, after her 15 minutes of journaling during which she spent the next 30 minutes dallying in a romance novella. And she would wonder what passion of THAT sort might feel like. Would it warm her chest no matter how harsh the winter winds so that she could be perfectly content laying buried naked in snow? Would she feel happiness at his happiness and sorrow and his sorrow? Would she begin mirroring his habits, and he hers. Would they voicelessly flaunt their love to the community by clasping hands as they strolled through the boulevards and promenades? Would they pull an arm around her shoulders so as to draw her body against theirs simply because the contact of their bodies was just so addicting? 

She would wonder what it would be like to build a life with that person. As it was, she’d only ever truly shared her life with one other person, that of her father Godephrey. What would it be like to make changes to her daily routine and clear spaces in her home for his welcome? Would he make her a better person? Tame her wild nature? She knew she’d not be unfaithful to him, as she did not believe in breaking her marital vows. If she swore she would do something, by Rhaawn’s ferocity, she would do it. And would she be enough to satisfy him? Would he grow bored of her and seek the comforts of another woman. She hoped against loving a man who’d betray her, but love is a fickle thing. Or so her father had told her, long ago in her youth. She wondered where they’d live. At first, she naturally assumed that they’d live in her home, but she had no family. But it was unrealistic to assume that he’d have none either. What would it be like to meet his family? Would if be painful for them if they did not approve? Love seemed so complicated that it made her afeared so she contented herself with letting such musings slip free from her mind. 

The dowager gave a scoff as she pulled and prodded at the cotton fabric of a light nightgown with a ribbon through the shoulders and chest for which to tighten it about your person as it was meant to hang loosely. That contumely scoff burst Esbrym’s idle thoughts swifter than they otherwise would have disappeared. Inwardly, she fumed but kept her face clear of any signs of ire, masking it with a placid smile that she had perfected in her father’s image. 

Esbrym did not fancy herself a harping bitter shrew. She rather thought of herself as far from that sort of woman a female was capable of being. She in fact held as much respect for her elders as any other well-reared gentlewoman. However…those who bore her no veneration received none from her in turn. She would not be persecuted into silent obedience or give unearned obeisance to those who had slighted her. That she would not stand for. Esbrym would not sacrifice her dignity by falling over her own feet to pay homage to an ill-bred harlot or whoreson in hopes that her obsequiousness and fawning would curry favor with the unpleasant member of living waste who gives their race a rude reputation. 

The girl wore a pretty latticed lace veil that had been carefully crocheted into complex knot work that was pulled over her face and which attached at her shoulders to a secured sash of scarlet chiffon that encircled the back of her head, much like one of the fancy spring hats that each weighed 8 pounds so overloaded with decorations and details. The veil was in excellent condition. It was not marred by stain nor tear. Seemingly it was treasured. The girl who was of interminable age was shadowed by the distinguished gentlewoman of geriatric age who was outfitted in a black garments suited for mourning. The cloth was cleverly spun and intricately sewn, and would have definitely cost a pretty gold piece. Over the stark tenebrousness of her dress was a lavish riding cloak made of some kind of clingy material unknown in this land. No doubt the old crone was the girl’s chaperone since it would be highly improper for her to be alone with her presumably unmarried male companion. 

Esbrym Roseluck, the Maven Matron of Fashion, retracted her gaze once more from the beldam and focused on the younger female. The girl’s multi-fabricked dress was dyed a blushing rouge that would have suited a dainty porcelain doll, an effigy of femininity. Though the dress suited the girl well enough on its own. The skirts were ankle-length in the more modern style of a hoop skirt as opposed to heavy layers of crinoline petticoats. A sash was laced around her waist, neatly tied in a fluffed large bow at the back that was a creamy yellow velvet. Designs of white and pastel blue like robin’s eggs in paisley adorned the hips that were overlaid with two cambric draped bolts of cloth in fervid magenta. The sleeves attached to the deep line of the upper bodice (the bones of the corset pocking slightly through the tightness of the cloth) hugged the sides of her shoulders instead of the tops. They traveled from the top-most part of her arm to encompass over half the skin of her shoulder’s bulk, to make it more suitable for propriety. They puffed out in frills that clung decadently to the hickory hue of her sun-kissed skin. 

The patrician young lady seemed of foreign nationality with that pigmentation. Esbrym wondered vaguely if perhaps she hailed from a faraway land. Golden skin tinted darker by the sun was not unheard of in Krahlisain but skin that dark did not naturally occur within their closed ecosystem among the humans and elves who called this land their domicile. Perhaps her mother was a noble of another country—or perhaps it was her father—that then married into Krahlisian’s nobility. She didn’t seem multi-ethnic but rather of pureblood heredity. 

Esbrym blinked her thoughts away. She might discover the truth of it for herself if the girl became a frequent customer and felt more inclined to vocal discourse than she was now. She would have to wait until then. For now, it was not the time to escape within idle thoughts when their were people who might require assistance. She continued her survey of the girl. She had a diminutive figure aggrandized by the tight corset which shrunk her waist to a seemingly dangerous extent. 

Unable to withstand her own irresistable curiosity and her untamable need to bring it satisfaction, Esbrym walked gracefully around the edge of the counter, besides which was a vase of fresh Gerber daisies and cattails bought just this morning from the florist two streets down. Truthfully, Annalise had not been expecting customers this day in her little boutique as it was the season that allowed for the least parties and social gatherings for the highborn. And she was quite expensive since she peddled quality over quantity, so she usually only served the highborn. It was rare that she received a soon to be engaged woman of modest income come to her shoppe for guidance and a suitable dress that would not make her look as though she were trying to rise above her station. She would allow herself to wait on them as there was little else to do now that they were here, and giving potential customers a personal touch would encourage their patronage and the likelihood of their return at a later date. 

Determination filling her to give her best service to such an obviously affluent potential customer and her matronly chaperone—and determined not to pay heed to the lurid stares of their manservant—she approached with purposeful footsteps on the thin lavender dyed carpet the stretched over the old ruined and warped wood paneled flooring. The coverage of the admirably cheap carpeting that Annalise swore to replace sometime soon with something more beautiful and extravagant absorbed most but not all of her footsteps’ sounds, only just loud enough to make her sudden appearance at their side known so as not to startle. She had learned to alert highborn women of her entrance into their space, lest they catch sight of her lurking so close from the corners of their eye and instinctually think her some sort of would-be assassin. And as women were so coddled these days, they often possessed weak nerves, and thus would the mood for advertisement of her wares be ruined. Then any attempts at such would be spurned politely but stiffly or she’d be shrilly shouted at and cursed for her lack of thought and good breeding. Though that had not happened to her personally, she had witnessed just such a situation which involved Godephrey Roseluck and a minor baroness. It had damaged his reputation for some time, and he had to make strenuous endeavors to regain the same esteem he’d enjoyed before. 

So it was quite habitual to find ways not to startle her customers or even the lookielous who could just as easily be a detriment to her business. Why think if one of them had high class connections and whispered into the right ears the exaggerations of propriety and professionalism they claimed Esbrym to lack. She could be ruined, or at the very least forced to sell and start a fresh company anew free from this boutique’s associations. Though that would require moving a long way from this side of the capitol so as not to be personally recognized to be the same proprietor. 

Above all, did Esbrym Roseluck, daughter of successful dominicus of a small business, Godephrey Roseluck, hold herself to the value of her dignity based on the equally successful business she’d inherited after making all her own reforms. Her boutique was her pride and her livelihood. She would not see it suffer for any reason. And under such pragmatic reasoning, made it a point to see personally to the tending of the store instead of allowing someone else to manage it for her. She also saw to all the finances herself, refusing to rely upon crooked accountants that might attempt to purloin large sums of coin from her. And to the furtherance of seeing to her business’s success, had made it a point the last four years it was inherited, to dote upon the every need of every potential customer. 

Sitting on the counter by the register was a wide glass-encased pewter plate smoothed with a post-cooked white polish to help stave off chipping, inside the containment of it sat a pile of sweet, crumbly crumpets she bought fresh from the bakery every morning. Beside the plate sat an earthenware jug varnished by the same polish, in which contained fresh well water with sliced strawberry and lemons. Several small teacups laid next to it, awaiting someone to pour the fruity water into them and sip at their sweetness. Then in a little glass bowl sat little mint-flavored marzipan-covered sugarcane in little wrappers from the confectionary shoppe three streets down. Never let it be said that Esbrym was not attentive to the needs of her patrons. 

In the back of the wide open shoppe were three doors. The first lead into the room where the seeing to of the measurements happened. The second was where a miniature kitchen was squished into along with a table set for four, where Esbrym and her customers could take exotic herbal and floral teas fetched from across a great ocean were it that proper time over which they could discuss the details of the alterations desired upon the gowns or accessories. And the third room where she did all the sewing and stitching and the creating of new dresses. She did some of it herself, but employed two other seamstresses, and in that room was where they stayed, toiling from an hour before opening to an hour after closing. It was restful work, though mindlessly taxing and ofttimes as equally vexing. But her fairly paid wageworkers did not utter a compliant if they felt dissatisfied with their job. 

And to add to her pristine reputation of dotage, she tempered her good welcome of women from all walks of life and circumstance—and even a few blushing new husbands there to find some pretty bauble for his new bride—with impeccable propriety, full spectrumed decorum, and uncompromisable civility no matter how rude and entitled her customer may be (even if she bore them no respect in her heart). She to them seemed a woman of quiet refinement. She was known to be mild mannered as all women should be. As this was as far from her true nature as she could go, she felt she kept up an excellent facade of genteel poise that any blue-blooded matron would want in a daughter-in-law. She could be disarmingly obsequious when egos needed sincere compliments to tickle them back to good humor. Talks with her never delved into awkward silences, her charisma and versatile skill in making small talk seeing to that. Esbrym showcased her wares and could recite all the details of it from where the cloth it was made from was purchased, to the exact name of its color shade, to the name of the stitching pattern used. She spoke matter-of-factly of the quality of her goods without boasting. She suggested what might suit the women who visited her shoppe, but never made more than subtle suggestions that it would find happiness belonging in the woman’s wardrobe. Above all, she did her utmost to see to it that her customers, though they might leave empty-handed, took their leave in good spirits and with a longing to return. 

She was more pleased to hold herself to all of the above today because of the very pellucid evidence that these ladies were high class even among the highborn. They dripped wealth like black oil down a pipe, and were well looked after. It was always a pleasure for Esbrym to make nice with those that cared well for themselves (even if she cared not for the old crone). And if in so doing, she acquainted herself with intriguing individuals, especially those with secrets hidden in their shadowy past and and poorly hidden sordid affair conducted brazenly in broad daylight, then more the better. Alas, the latter was hard to come across upon one’s own luck. Well, at least this customer cluster—or at least the younger lady and the armored warrior—seemed to fit into both categories. With the way the duo encloaked themselves in finery, they seemed be at the highest echelon of nobility, perhaps even belonging to the king’s court. They were all dressed in the details of the latest fashion styles, even the matron garbed in her mourning gown of monochromatic color. 

No doubt the two women heard the modestly tall heeled steps of her white suede boots across the floor, her fashionable shoes perfectly adhering the shape of her leg through tightly tied laces a soft blend of fabrics disappearing up beneath her dress only just acceptable enough not to be scandalous. They did not startle, and flicked their eyes upon Esbrym’s approach, turning when it was obvious she was going to see to their needs and not make busywork of organizing the racks or some such things.

The young lady and the geriatric dame bore matching expectant expressions when they turned at her approach, though the elder’s was imperious and arctic. The warrior simply continued to peer intently at her without change to his expression. The young highborn tilted her head in greeting, speaking a soft “A felicitous morn to you,” almost as at a whisper but not quite. The girl seemed to be soaking Esbrym in before she took the ends of her lace veil in hand and gently drew it back off over her head, to politely grant her the opportunity to be part of any potential conversation that Esbrym, the crone, or the warrior would initiate. The unveiling revealed the woman to be as youthful as Esbrym had imagined, dolled up as she was in such childish colors and frilly, ruffled style. Her face was a sight to behold, quite comely, but ultimately not what excited Esbrym into arousal perhaps mostly because the gentlelady was a bit younger than of the age group she usually partook of. 

Despite feeling no attraction to the young gentlelady, Esbrym could perceive a great charismatic character from her. Her allure and her obvious charms would make for the temptation of many a man and many of woman, though of the latter likely in secret. She seemed the sort that gained allies with but the simplest of actions, such as smiling with her uncanny magnetism, the same sort that she was dauntlessly flashing at the redheaded dress shoppe owner. Had Esbrym Roseluck been a few years junior of her age of thirty as she was now, she might have been dazzled but as it were, she was wise to the manipulations of the temptress the gods called ‘woman’. 

The girl reminded her of an elven lover from her past. The relationship had begun when Esbrym was still the awkward, gangly adolescent whose features had yet to mature into beauty. She’d had a bit of experience with intimacy, but not with true romance. They had nothing particularly special, though to them it was love that scorched with its passionate, feverish intensity. Their fondness for one another was interwoven with an aggressive need that no amount of hair-pulling, back arching, or screaming through teeth-gritting climaxes could bring. After they saw to their own satisfactions, they still were left only hungrier for more and more of each other. Alas, the inferno of their affection was quickly cooled come the end of that summer, with not even a candlestick wick’s tiny, delicate flame remained alight in any tenderness of each other. Ah, the trials of youth. But it is through mistakes and missteps that one learns how to navigate through life. Esbrym would remember Scilliesan if not with fondness then with admiration for the unrelenting passion they once shared, however fleeting it felt like that summer romance was. 

Though perhaps clarification was needed. What she and that elven lad had was not love. What afflicted them with their body’s deep addictions was simply lust and only that. When the clothes were on, they could hardly carry on any sort of stimulating discourse. Neither found the other particularly attractive either. What they had both been seeking at the time was a warm body governed by a mind clouded by the haze of desire and willingness for exploration. They delighted each other between the bedclothes, but outside of the privacy of their chambers, they hardly looked at one another. When their passion cooled and they ended their once insatiable love affair, no one’s heart was broken. 

“Glad tidings and a very pleasant morn to you as well, my lady. Madam. Good ser. I do hope you find yourselves well this fine day?” Esbrym asked after their health. It was best to finish with the pleasantries as soon as possible, she found, as it made more time for more important matters, though to neglect the pleasantries utterly was a grave oversight. She clapped her hands softly together with well feigned polite interest. 

Manners were terribly important at any time. Keeping a civil, level head could save you from many a disaster. The guidelines for manners enforce some levels of safety for women, and when one was unsure what to do or say, recite the lessons on manners one’s governess made them memorize, and you have a least a few topics of conversation safe to navigate and lead away from social disaster. But manners are also important because good manners are the result of good breeding and good breeding is the result of a respectable family, which was achieved first through a man’s impeccable reputation who then subsequently married well, sired a son as a firstborn, and then a spare boy, and then finally a girl to gussy up and sell off to a rich husband to bring in familial loyalty to the father and the husband’s respective business. This family must attend the lectures at the shrines and temples and worship publicly, several time a week and commit acts of charity. If you are born into a respectable family with an at least comfortable income, you will have a smooth life regardless of gender. You want the customers to assume you are from a respectable family because it improves your standing in there eyes, and from there that opens up so many possibilities that would simply just not have been there without the perfect manners and most respectable amount of decorum. 

“It finds me very well, good woman. I thank thee for your concern on my behalf and indeed find fain with your politeness,” said the girl with a bob of her head, eyes fluttering shut at the ease of the conversation. 

“I am no more unhappy nor melancholy than any other day,” announced the crone, deadpan, seeming wholly disinterested with the entire exchange. She seemed to wish she were elsewhere. She cast disdainful looks at the impeccably ordered racks of dresses, the color coded hat display, the fur stoles up on display at the wide window where the passersby could browse her wares without the concern for judgment that might fear they’ll receive upon entry. The woman’s expression remained sour the whole time until it landed on a fat double looped string of pearls with a large teardrop shaped one on the bottom loop in the center. She seemed rather taken with it, her eyes narrowed in on it as conversation continued on around her. 

The girl seemed ashamed of her chaperone’s misanthropic behavior and replied in a pleasant, apologetic tone, “Please, pay my great-aunt no mind. Hearken not to her vitriolic words. The old beldam is a true wasteheart who revels in her self-assumed desolation. Ah, but I forget myself. This,” the girl introduced with the flick of her wrist, “Is my second cousin: the gallant and most noble Ser Astagnon Hadrius Guillaume, a royal knight of the king’s court, decorated with the honors of the white lotus for his valor in the battle of the Phyrelord.”

Given good reason now to publicly meet the man’s gaze, Esbrym found herself caught in his eyes and was scorched by lubricious want within the jade iris which was nearly consumed by the dilation of his pupils. She suspected her eyes mirrored his. She felt struck by him and felt herself go utterly motionless while her heart throbbed within the confines of her chest. Her breath came in silent little pants as a heat fell upon her and she felt her centre pulse with want as slickness clung between the folds, drooling with hunger in her satin undergarments. 

But she was not a maiden lass who was naive and ignorant of the pleasure flicking tongues and dextrous fingers could bring. And so she recovered herself within moments, flashing the brilliance of her unbridled smile at the knight of who’s cousin held in such high esteem. Despite her warm nonchalance, beneath her skirts her loins quivered, her hole flexing around an emptiness that begged to be filled. She fluttered her eyes and bowed her head in greeting, as was proper when making the acquaintance of a gentleman of such high stature. 

Esbrym received in return a self-satisfied smirk, crooked and cocky in its own charming way. He held out his hand and she placed her own within his grasp so he could bend down to place a gentle, moist kiss upon it while keeping his eyes raised all the while to hold hers. “An absolute pleasure to know you, my good woman. I anticipate our good favor of one another as we learn more about each other’s true selves,” he quoth in a gritty, low voice that was the price of smoking a pipe habitually. 

Esbrym nearly shuddered at that voice. It was so erotic it practically demanded a physical recompense for their shared intensity. She heard its echo by her ear, and devolved briefly into the fantasy of what he might whisper into it as he ravished her. But she had excellent mastery of self within the dominion of her ravenous mind so her reaction could not be observed. To the two women, who as with the backwards-thinking indoctrination, their greetings of each other were naught but an extension of civility between two members of the working class. Feeling the ridiculous urge to twiddle her fingers, Annalise prevented herself from doing so by carefully rescinding her hand from Astagnon’s grasp and laced her fingers together in front of her primly. 

“Me thinks you do me great honor in your laudation of me, my good ser. I shall cherish your kind words as I am unworthy to be held with such esteem though I delight in hearing you extol my piteous person as you lend credence to this good name of mine. ’Tis a refreshing view to hear, as I oft find myself lacking. ’Tis a frequent thing to be bombarded with my own self-criticisms. So I thank ye for such praise, Ser Guillaume.” 

She had all but purred his name, and felt quite smug when SHE observed within him a subtle shiver. He closed his eyes briefly when it rolled over his spine, eyelashes fluttering as he released a fast breath before his eyes were upon her once more. This time their jade depths were marked by a more fervent cathexis that already seemed to border on an all-consuming obsession that drove a dagger of need through his loins. Or so she assumed from that expression he was giving her. He had lost his self-satisfied smirk, and now his gaze promised dark delights however, he suavely replied in a carefully controlled tone cultured into well-bred good manners, “’Tis naught but the truth I speak, madam. I’ve heard tell of the Maven Matron of Fashion who revolutionized the dress of the genteel and highborn. I have heard of the legacy you have made your own, and it is by my reckoning you have only improved upon your predissesor’s manner of business conduct. And furthermore, good woman, you are known to be a galvanic, eloquent conversationalist and dilitiente. With our first meeting you’ve already secured yourself within my good graces, and I’m sure within that of milady cousin.” He tilted his head towards the patrician girl at his side. 

It was then Esbrym shifted her attention to that of the crone and the young lady. The crone’s brow was furrowed, and her lips were voicelessly moving around silent mutterings, no doubt bemoaning the time that was expended and wasted upon this singular exchange of pleasantries. She seemed not to be concerned with the appetenic energy charging the room—either ignoring it or wholly uninterested—and at last within the pause of the conversation, turned her back to the three of them to stare covetously at the pearl necklace that she’d been eyeing earlier. However, the junior gentlelady was glancing between the dressmaker and the knight surripitously, one brow just slightly inclined higher than the other in bemusement and befuddlement. It was then Esbrym realized that when Astagnon had inclined his head to his highborn cousin, he had been signaling her to calm the intensity sparking between them. Not an empty head behind that pretty face. So much the better.

Esbrym kept a pleasant simper upon her face, schooling her features into polite interest and took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart and heated core. “I do hope so, my lady. And how fare thee? Well, I would certainly hope? You seem to be of good spirits, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

The bemused expression was replaced with one of interested mild concentration. She beamed her splendorous smile and replied blithely, “Quite well! Quite, quite well. And with thee?”

“All is well with I, my lady,” Esbrym collogued soothingly before she purposely brightened her face and placed a dainty hand upon her bountiful chest while tilting her head down in polite introduction, “Prithee and perchance, may I be so bold, my lady, as to greet you with a formal address so as to acquaint your triad with my person?” With a nod, the young lady gave her leave which was punctured by the old crone’s scoff that the three junior souls promptly and utterly ignored. 

Esbrym widened her smile into a charismatic grin. “Hail and ho there, my lady. I profess myself as Annalise Roseluck. I be the proprietor of Highborn High Fashion Boutique which was established first era of holy song, in the year 1549 by my father and predessesor, the good Godephrey Roseluck. ’Tis an honor to make thy acquaintance and extend you may every courtesy of service.” Esbrym courtsied as she was taught (all those years ago that lasted many grueling nights that devolved into nights nursing the sore calves and thighs that had been earlier afflicted by cramping knots) for good measure, turning her head to both woman as she did so. But she could not hold back bowing just ever so slightly lower while pushing out her chests so that Hadrius was given an eyeful of cleavage. The patrician girl returned the courtsy with an indulgent nod while her grimalkin chaperone only glanced at Esbrym from the corner of her peripherals and then snorted and returned her attention to the pearls. Astagnon, silent and practically salivating at the sight she gifted him, took a moment before he chivalrously bowed low at the waist with his right hand clasped over his chest and most importantly his heart before rising and giving her a look as hungry as that a starving man gives a decadent slice of cheesecake (when the gentlelady had glanced at her great aunt). 

Esbrym bit her lower lip between perfectly straight teeth as white as summer solstice clouds to keep the darkness at bay. She knew that the light pallor of her cheeks were painted rouge with a pretty blush. Such an obvious sign was sure to be noticed even by the most coddled, naive maid, so all Esbrym could do was hope that it was only flattery she felt at being so Kindly spoken to and not the truth of it. The truth being her reason and her wisdom nearly utterly devoured by concupiscent erotic NEED, the likes of which she’d only felt so predominantly once in all her thirty years of living. 

Esbrym forced herself to meet with the highborn lass’s eyes lest she give her greater cause for suspicion. She received in turn boldly maintained eye contact with the redhead boutique proprietor, who simply raised an interested brow in response. The girl’s eyes twinkled with mirth and were framed by thick black lashes. Situated above her eyes were two thin brows of the same lustrous shade of onyx black as that of her hair that was carefully held back in a chignon. Those two strips of hair were as infinitely expressive as that of her manservant. They matched the shadow of her long locks so carefully braided and attached to the back of her head with a few coiled spools framing the sides of her cherubic face. 

In all these observations, Esbrym had come to think of her as the kind of girl that enforced a stratagic, carefully plotted, intricately cultivated ploy for the purpose of deceive you so that when she ruined you (for offending her delicate sensibilities that you were unaware of slighting) it would come as an unforeseeable shock. She was confident in herself that was so contrary to society’s regulations of how a woman should conduct herself even more of how she views her own character (over all else, women of Krahlisian were encouraged to feel shame of themselves), though seemingly not to the same extent of liberties taken by Esbrym. She had an exotic, intriguing beauty, carefully hidden depths of guile, grace and the knowledge of how to use it advantageously. She possessed of many qualities of the same ken as Annalise. And so she already knew the dangers of association with such a person. Esbrym wondered if perhaps her youth would blind what little real-world experience she had and that she would be too deluded of notions of her own self-indestructibility that she’s not take the proper precautions whenever she’d take on the role of the duplicitous loyalty of the Ebony Scorpion. (Now there was an interesting legend to be sure. Whereas some cultures idealized the raven, the spider, the snake, or the jackal as being disloyal to all others but themselves and ruthlessly cutthroat about achieving their own ends, the Ebony Scorpion, a demigod was the ultimate symbolt of cozening dichotomy). 

Withal, this was not to say that she was afraid. The good sense of caution welled up within her, a hesitance that give her a long enough pause to weed out any problematic speech in her next pontification and fortify her mask with the cleansing breaths needed to keep her untamable sensibilities beneath her self-mastery. So cautious, yes, and wary. She’d observe her closely, watch for her every slight reaction and take her subtle cues with a keen mind. But fear…she was far and away from feeling that of anybody. She was her own worst enemy, she’d learned during the era of her youthful unloveliness. And if she were ever to fear more persons than that of herself, it would most assuredly be for a man or woman of true threat, not some small slip of a girl playacting control upon the little commoners who could do not but play along. Perhaps in time the girl would become a force to be reckoned with, but she was as of yet stilll too inexperienced with the ways of the world. And besides, what had she to fear of the savage bobcat when she was the vicious lioness? Certainly, if anyone in the room was to be feared, it would be Esbrym Roseluck herself. A thrill of smugness ran down her back at the thought of her own ferocity, adding to her earlier excitement and lingering arousal. 

But adversely there was nothing at all beguiling about the girl’s near geriatric companion. Beyond that of her lavish manner of dress (even in mourning), she was not so notable as that of her great-niece. She was scarcely more than average with no outstanding features to set her apart from any other venerable old crone save for maybe that abhorrent expression. She was naught more than a gentlewoman in her winter years with limp brown hair that she had pinned up in an archiac design of plaits, and carefully mussed strands of hair secured to her head only by an expensive decorative comb made of pure jade. Her hair was so sprinkled with monochromatic churascuro of grey and white running through her neglected, split-ended locks in rivulets that her painstaking styled hair failed to hide her obvious carelessness with. There were no dark circles beneath her wrinkled eyes so whomever she mourned, she did not bare an evidence of doing so in the harsh melancholy of grief. Her sleep seemed untroubled. A wonder then, struck Esbrym. What was the cause of that citric sour disposition of hers if not for her grief? But she thought no more upon that idle, passing thought. 

Yet the woman while seemingly of a whole heart had a very grim air about her. Her aura was like that of the unrest between an estranged mother and child after two decades of the two stubbornly ignoring each other. That was the sort of unrest she carried around with her, polluting the innocent cheerful vibes that might be ruined for the unwitting persons unfortunate enough to be near the unpleasant woman and have their good vibes infected with lugubriousness by the matron’s presence. The grimalkin seemingly highborn lady was several pounds a bit too heavy to look attractive even for a woman of her advanced age, and so subsequently her breasts were quite large, unlike that of her younger fellow female, infinitely younger though she was. 

“I extend to you my warmest of greetings, Madame Roseluck. I am the lady Lauretta Borothe. I hold the dominion over Silver Grass Hillside demesne outside of the confines of the city capitol and its districts,” the girl murmured in reply. Her voice was a soft, gentle thing that tinkled like bells. Her smile had not yet waned, endearing the sly little viper to Esbrym who almost appreciated civility above self appreciation. The lady Lauretta gesticulated gracefully to the other woman who was not smiling and had not as of yet, “This is my great aunt, the lady Patrice Nightcrest, widow of the late Forinthine Baron, Thaddeus Nightcrest.”

In her mind, Esbrym went through all the names of the nobles she had had dealings with. If the lady Lauretta held dominion over a territory that meant she was either a vicountess, countessa, duchess, or earlessa. If memory served her well, Roseluck could recall a vicomte Gastreny Borothe that had turned deceased after a long struggle with an asthma attack the duration of a year past. To the best of her recollection, the man had once been a frequent customer of her father. The two of them had seemed to get on from the fond way her father had spoken of him. Though she never met the man personally, she knew of his great fortune. 

Perhaps then it could be assumed that this was his heir. It seemed more than feasible, and it furthermore seemed the most likely answer. That would be a very fortunate acquaintance to have, and she’d definitely become a part of her preferential customer coterie. Esbrym did not allow herself to fall into daydreaming of what it might mean to have a vicomtess as a frequent customer at her boutique. She hesitated to hope for that. It was always best to be grateful for what you had and dream of more rather than ask for it or else strike out under your own banner and fight for what it was you wanted because the gods would not reward nor endorse slothfulness. 

As for Patrice, she’d heard of the noble name before though it was a minor title, such as a feudal baron with great power over their little fiefdom but of little wealth. However, even if it was a intelligent maneuver to try to entice the lady Nightcrest onto her customer list, Esbrym was unsure of her ability to continuously bite her tongue when the umpteenth acrid remark left that wretched woman’s vitriol-spewing foul mouth. She felt that the lady Nightcrest simply wasn’t fit for polite society and journeys into the eye of the public, highborn or no. Esbrym decided then that she would do nothing to try and receive her business, though would not turn away the persuasion of her coin if she made a decision on buying that gaudy pearl necklace or not. 

“Charmed, I’m sure,” the lady Nightcrest deigned to say—even if there was a bit of sarcasm implied in that statement—after there was a beat of silence for which she was clearly meant to say something as she’d been introduced. She quickly looked away after she spoke, plainly uninterested in the goings on. The arrogance in Esbrym did have to wonder, though, if the reason she was so easily being dismissed from the other woman mind was because of her low caste station in nobility made her arrogant over others not holding such standing or if the woman’s interests simply laid elsewhere. She might have been very much affronted had she known for sure the reason as she was very careful to outfit herself in the attire of the higher caste like the nobility and the gentry. She had been raised as much in the same vein as they, as it were. Even the wealthy and prosperous were not always literate much less in multiple language and even rarer to be educated in all manner of matters as she was. She was blessed that her father had happily seen to it that she was, unlike to many of her rival small business proprietors working out of similar little shoppes on this boulevard. 

“It is such an honor for myself to make the acquaintance of such genteel ladies as yourselves,” Esbrym praised with another curtsey, spreading out the folds of her merlot and onyx colored skirts with its criss-crossing lines of silk and crepe stitched in the heavy brocade fabric, which was more suitable for winter than what Lauretta wore. “Is there something with which I can aid you in finding? Or if you’d prefer, I could make my own suggestions as to what might suit you, presumptuous though it might be.” Esbrym pressed her hand to her chest when speaking of herself before gesturing out with her palm up and fingers curved ever so slightly.

“Ah, of course I’d be pleased with the assurance of being giving the opinion of an master in this field of expertise. Fashion is ever so important to us women. It can make us strong. At times it works as effectively as any armor a man ever wore. But it can also make us vulnerable to the bloodthirsty attacks of old lady harpies who circle over young little gentleladies like me during tea time. I’m certain you shall chose something that suits me well and wards off the accursed attentions of the highborn lady murderflock,” lady Lauretta said with a widening grin that simply could be nothing other but as genuine as it appeared. 

Esbrym broadened her own smile, closing her eyes briefly to signify how pleased she was with the compliment. “You do flatter me,” she drawled in an appreciative voice with a laugh. Ten years previous and she’d have giggled no matter how placatingly insincere the compliment but she was far too close to the age for women to begin the journey to find the pathway that leads to fertility and then soon following the path of motherhood. No, she was too mature of age for such girlish behavior. She lightly clasped a hand over her mouth to keep her laugh modest before she straightened her shoulders and took on a more serious mien. “And that sounds an awful burden to endure. You have my deepest condolences for your unbalanced position.”

“Ah, that’s the dark truth of politicking amongst those of noble birth. Such is their way. I’m commonly of the mind to believe that they are such bloodthirsty old birds because as respected noble ladies of advanced age, they haven’t as many of the freedoms I enjoy. And I haven’t as many freedoms as you enjoy. So many lowborn girls dream of ascending into nobility, but at least a lowborn female may have the opportunity to choose what husband will rule her until death comes calling. That’s more choice than some woman could even dream of having.”

Esbrym nodded sagely. “’Tis a tragedy what happens to us the fairer of the sexes. We are made into weak flowers to be smelled in summer and plucked by winter that in so doing takes our lives. So why die simply a little faster at the hands of the man? We all wither beneath their control. But, as you said, the right dress can be like a armor, leave others too awestruck to strike at you. I vow, my lady, to do my utmost to see to it that you will always have the proper armor at every soiree and luncheon and dinner party you must attend.” Esbrym reached across and took her hand gently between hers, smiling supportively. 

“I thank you for your kindness, Madame Roseluck. I must congratulate you on a marvelous boutique. Certainly, you have done a fine job, and without a patron to fund you in the uncertain times of struggle. It is truly inspiring for women to know that there are paragons among women who manage to live just as fulfilling a life without a husband as is promised to those who have them and the newspaper now vilifies for their hopeless plight! It is a right disservice to those women who were simply conquered by their emotions for a single battle. They did not even take into consideration of the scale of the war with which these women struggled. I can assure no one acts on a single, random thought of self-seeking death’s cold, final embrace. Ah, but here I carry on like a ninny. I do hope you shall warn me when I offend all your sensibilities before I run them so far into ruin you’ll not accept my coin.” Lauretta was passionate in her offrunt on the behalf of those women. Her brow was furrowed, there was a tick in her jaw, her breaths came out in sharply released little pants. Esbrym did not doubt that Lauretta with her great charisma could charm and urge and blackmail and when all those fail, bribe her way into power, but she would never succeed with her expression so open for everyone to read her feelings plainly. 

“I appreciate the compliment of my shoppe. I myself am rather proud to have achieved modest success that even without a patron I no longer struggle to keep my lease on this building as I make enough coin to keep my doors open without being in wont of prudent worry. Oh but fie! Listen! Here I am talking about things as improper as currency outside of a draft of a line of credit.” Esbrym's voice twisted in on itself to match Lauretta’s as she relaxed into their entirely inappropriate discussion. But no one was there beside the ‘good’ lady Nightcrest and the strapping lad whose eyes promised virality to their lovemaking so she supposed there was no pressing reason to censor an honest, liberated conversation free from the indocrination of polite society. It had been so long since she’d spoken so freely with another female who she did not just perform the horizontal tango with so with all their inhibition lowered, it felt like cheating to count those such conversations among an honest, blunt discussion like the one the highborn lady was sharing with the seamstress. 

“We have an accord of agreement, Madame Roseluck. Ah, but once more I find myself taken by the elegance of your business. This shoppe truly is an admirable establishment. I have seen no dress shoppe that is its match. And since you spoke of a draft for a line of credit, I would like to start one, if you will accept the business of a horrible cynic that speaks too plainly in polite company.” She seemed to genuine in her worry against disapproval. 

Never let it be forgotten, mind you, that Esbrym Roseluck was not a fool. She knew to question at least some of this sly little fox’s intentions as she lurked around the chicken coop. Though the promise of new business was enough for her to set asides her suspicions until a time when she could properly ruminate. “I would be happy to begin a line of credit for you. Shall I retrieve the form at this very moment or might you prefer to know if there is anything we can find that suits your needs and your fancy?” Roseluck said with a beaming smile, clapping her hands together once at the prospect of a sale. For all the dreariness of the path her thoughts had taken throughout this day, she found herself once again in good spirits. 

“Perhaps the line of credit can be seen to lastly. The mundane banalities of business, I haven’t the head for the figures, nor the patience, I am afraid. Perhaps with the prospect of buying the perfect dress will inspire me to focus upon the formalities of the business deal. So, Madame Roseluck, it would lovely to see your suggestions for my upcoming luncheon with the old biddy murderflock two days from now at high noon.” Lauretta spoke with as much enthusiasm as her new seamstress. 

From where she stood by the jewelry display case, they heard the Lady Patrice give a wet, hacking cough from among the little island aisles that kept the dresses organized by function separate. The two women shared a grimace and did their best to return to the topic at hand. “A most agreeable idea,” Esbrym murmured her assent, extending her arm out in the direction of what layefurther inwards. Lauretta raised her eyebrows but followed as bade.

Astagnon followed behind the two chattering womenfolk silently, his eyes burning into the fabric of Esbrym’s habiliments from his gaze’s intensity.


End file.
